I booked the Opera House tickets first while planning the trip. And, God forbid, we might have lost the money if not for the friendly staff at the reception.
That morning, we banked on our growing confidence as Sydney commuters and underestimated the time required to reach Circular Quay, the last stop on the L3 light rail line.
We also overestimated the predictability of the tram systems, forgetting that they were make-believe trains running on roads, making them vulnerable to traffic disruptions. Lesson learned. Besides, as my daughter always says, ‘Singapore spoils us.’ We have to get used to the fact that not all first-world cities run with clockwork precision.
In short, we arrived ten minutes late for the Opera house tour, hindered in our running by our jackets. We expected to be shooed away, and in my head, I was already composing the mail to request a refund. But the staff ushered us in, helped us deposit our bags in a fraction of a minute, handed us the headsets for the guide to talk through, and herded us to the meeting point from where our group had just begun the tour.
The guide welcomed us quite cheerily, and we climbed up the entrance in awe. I pondered why the staff and guide were so friendly to us. The rest of the people in the group did not mind, I suppose. I did not receive any icy stares. Did they assume we were doctors delayed by an emergency case or something? The way they led us inside, I felt like a superhero delayed for a party because of a world-saving mission. It was customer service at its best.
I did not dwell upon this unexpected pleasantness much longer as the guide plunged into her narration.
The Opera House, as everyone knows, is an architectural wonder. While the tour focused on the engineering challenges the team overcame to build the aesthetic shapes, the story that captured our imagination was that of Jorn Utzon, the Danish architect whose design gave rise to this beautiful edifice. A change of government during the construction ensured that he never saw the finished project. He was sacked before the completion by the then Minister of Public Works, who had no interest in the arts or aesthetics and agreed with the government on the frivolity of such a project.
Although subsequent governments tried to reconcile by inviting him, Utzon was too hurt to visit his landmark creation ever again. His family, though, still retains its ties with the project, with his son overseeing the maintenance of the structure as per his father’s instructions.
Any creator would understand the pain of being unable to see their creation in its completed form, admired and appreciated by millions of visitors from across the world. What a pity!
An accomplished team of engineers later completed the interior designs. I wanted to take pictures, but we were asked to refrain.
The tour left me in awe of the human endeavours to make life meaningful because what is life without the arts and aesthetics? What is life without the ability to appreciate the hard work and dedication that goes into creating a thing of beauty?
The guide repeatedly asked us if we had any questions, but I was too awestruck to ask any. If I attended any show at the Opera House, I would be gawking at the interiors rather than paying attention to the performance on the stage. The interiors were done so that the artist’s voice reached the last row in the main concert hall, which could seat more than 2,600 people. But any artist competing with the interiors to draw attention to themselves must be commended.
An hour of the tour passed without us glancing at the watch even once, and after we said our goodbyes to the enthusiastic guide, we indulged in family photo shoots in and around the area.
The trees beyond the waters beckoned, and we strolled across the neat pathway beside the Royal Botanic Gardens. The weather had suddenly changed. With overcast skies threatening to open up at any time, we abandoned the idea of climbing up the cliff called Mrs Macquarie’s chair. It was carved out of sandstone by Governor Macquarie for his wife. It offers a vantage view of Sydney harbour, but we didn’t make it there before the rain arrived.
In Singapore, a little rain wouldn’t have dampened our enthusiasm, but the cold weather in Sydney is like a double whammy. I have nothing but respect for the joggers who were relentless despite the weather. They reminded me of the noon joggers in Singapore — again, an example of the human spirit to accomplish something against all odds.
Inspired by my experience, I decided to go full steam ahead with my plan to ambush a famous bookstore in the city with copies of two of my books. My contention was that they had already listed my books on their website, so why can’t they listen to the author’s request when she visits their store? I did not have high hopes because my earlier efforts to reach out to the store’s buyer based in Sydney had not yielded any results.
I had this naïve hope that a buyer might be walking about in the store since it was the main one in the city. I spent a while among the aisles pretending to admire the books, but I was observing the store employees doing their jobs. I was loathe to approach any of them. Still, eventually, I gathered the courage. I spoke to a guy who politely explained that the online division operates separately from the offline division and that the website pulls products from numerous sources, thus offering a wider range of books.
My books were obviously eligible for this wider range, but in order to be stocked at the store, they had to be approved by the buyer at the headquarters. He suggested that I mail the buyer. I thanked him for his help and, having unburdened myself from the mission of promoting my book, browsed the bookstore’s collection. The switch from a writer to a reader felt cathartic at that moment, so much for trying to promote my books during a holiday.
After a day at George Street, we took a ferry ride from Circular Quay to Pyrmont Bay. The ferry took us below the Sydney Harbour Bridge and offered views of Luna Park, an amusement park at Milsons Point. Having no interest in that kind of amusement, we were happy to click pictures from the ferry.
The ferries are an integral part of Sydney commuters, and the fare can be paid with the same Opal card used for other public transport modes– buses, trams, and trains.
Waiting at the tram station was a unique experience for me. I haven’t been to Kolkata, an Indian city that still runs on trams. To cross the road without the right traffic signal is to break the law in Sydney as in any other city, but many commuters did walk across even as the tram trundled into the stop.
Sydney CBD gave me a mixture of London and New York city vibes, but much cleaner and friendlier.
Our next location took us away from the light rail system onto the trains and buses. More on that in the following post.
You can read the previous part (part 2) of this series here.
The Plausible Mind 
2 thoughts on “A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 3”